


To Truly Live

by ShatteredSwallowtail



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 12:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredSwallowtail/pseuds/ShatteredSwallowtail





	To Truly Live

He'd never really had the time to appreciate the magnitude of his request. Well, ok maybe it was more accurate to say he'd never really _taken_ the time to appreciate it. Indeed, while the -- arguably bad -- consequences of the decision he'd made had certainly been considered, there was an appreciable and notable difference between understanding and comprehension.

_Understanding required more caution_

At least, that was his current perception. Not because comprehension meant not knowing what you were signing up for, but because if he'd taken those precious seconds, availed himself of that small mote of time to _truly_ consider all the myriad of consequences and ramifications, then he might not have been able to find the courage within himself even to _make_ the choice. And that, while it would have been the safer, perhaps the more "intelligent" choice... wasn't the choice he wanted. To make the "safer" choice would have meant settling, and in that settling, an acceptance of the very things he'd wanted so badly to escape from.

Neither was it an issue of rash decision-making, because there was no way he could deny that he'd been considering it for a while. Quite longer than perhaps they -- "they" being the ones who called him comrade yet only used him -- even realized. But then, none of them had really given him much credit, at least as far as intellect went. No, they didn't actually consider him a true comrade. Not really "one of them". No, he was just a tool to them.

Especially Ichigo. Sure, the orange-haired former substitute -- no longer merely a sub now, not with his upcoming promotion pending -- had needed him at the start of things, but now that he had that damned badge... Kon was merely more than a mascot. A cast-aside stuffed toy more often than not crammed -- and rather uncomfortably, he might add -- into the desk drawer of a highschool senior who had no more time for him than he had for any other toy Ichigo may have retained from his bygone youth. His days spent whiling away his frustrations at his apparent uselessness were only assauged by the fact that -- seeing as the rest of the Kurosaki clan were no longer ignorant of the situation -- at least Yuzu gave him a modicum of respect, and he was seldom reduced to the indignity of being "Postaf" and dressed in ribbons and lace.

But even that, as much as it galled him most of the time, had been bearable. It was the rest that hadn't been

He'd really started to notice it the first time after they'd returned from Soul Society, with the very subject of their rescue attempt conspicuously absent. He'd yelled at Ichigo for that, and received the usual trouble for his concern. That is to say, none. It had galled him, nearly disgusted him to the core, to know that after all that blustering, all of that attitude, the kid had fallen short. At least that's what he'd thought, until he'd watched the practically despondant way the boy would stand in front of the empty closet, as though looking for something he kept forgetting wasn't there anymore. Plain and simple, everything had changed. Only... he'd realized soon after that things weren't nearly that simple. Ichigo had come back with that badge. That smooth, polished pentagon of painted wood which effortlessly took _his_ place.

He'd been so grateful when Rukia had returned, not only because it had lifted Ichigo's spirits -- and his as well, he'd have to admit -- but because she'd spent a decent chunk of time reminding the orange-head that leaving his body lying around haphazardly like that was a bad thing that was liable to get him into trouble.

Not that Ichigo really cared.

And then Orihime had been taken. And it was as though someone had flipped a fast-forward switch on their timestream and suddenly there was no time, no time to include Kon, no time for anything other than the war and the battles and trying to win back what had been taken from them, and he'd realized that though he may have been crucial to them in the beginning... there was no place for him now.

It had been something of a slow realization, sitting there and watching from the outside, watching as first they went off to fight without him, and then... they simply _went without him_. No more did he spend his time stuffed into a backpack or a pocket, carried along in case he was needed. Even his protests that he wanted to go outside, wanted to come along and be _part_ of things were ignored. Delegated to the back burner of his "friends" minds as they traipsed about doing whatever came to them.

No one cared. No one noticed that, small furry body aside, he was still a soul. Still a _person_, in much the same way that they were. Hell, it had been Ichigo himself that had stopped the hat-wearing bastard from just _disposing_ of Kon, the same way any "defective" merchandise was disposed of. Ichigo had even given him his _name_. But now... that time was over. And not through any act of his own, or really any act of anyone. It was over simply... because they didn't _see_ him. Didn't see him as anything close to what they were. Didn't see the fact that he had feelings, had dreams and wants and desires.

They didn't see that he wanted to be free. That he wanted to walk around amidst this world that he was a part of, without the disbelieving stares and other reactions that would have naturally accompanied the sight of a stuffed toy marching resolutely down the street. He wanted to run, to explore, to _understand_ this world. He'd have thought that Rukia -- of all people -- would have understood.

But she didn't. Just like the rest, she didn't see him, at least not _really_. She didn't see that -- sure, he played it up a good deal, to hide the truth -- he looked at her in a very similar way in which the broody teenager did. Only... she saw Ichigo. Not him. Not that he was really surprised. If he was truly honest with himself, he'd seen that coming a long time ago. He remembered her face that one night when she'd written her 'coded' letter and then proceeded to duct-tape him to the back of the toilet base. And he'd known then, the way things would play out, at least for her. And he'd been right. That had been confirmed to him a few weeks ago when he'd come padding around the corner, furry fists rubbing his eyes to see Rukia stand up on tiptoe and press a soft kiss to her former substitute's lips before the unexpectedly tender moment devolved rather predictably into a fight. And truly, he was happy for them, despite the dull ache in his plush chest that he'd always somehow known would be there when it happened.

But despite the fact that he could wish them well, could be happy for them, it had been the last straw in many ways. And so he'd taken a chance and made his way to the last place that he normally ever wanted to go. That shop, run by _that_ man. It had taken him awhile, a rather harrowing trip of avoiding dogs and small children and other such things, not to mention the simple fact that he was a _toy_ walking around on it's own.

And for once, someone had actually _listened_ to what he said. _Really_ listened, the way no one had since he'd first been saved from destruction. Urahara hadn't laughed -- well, aside from his usual greeting -- and had instead simply sat quietly and listened while the artificial soul poured out his feelings. All his frustrations and longings and the _want_ for what he'd never been granted since his creation; a normal life. To become a part of the cycle again. To have a body of his own, to walk amongst the denizens of this world as one of them, to live -- and die -- as any of them would.

He'd expected laughter, expected to be turned down and told to be grateful for what he had. Instead, he'd received understanding. Compassion, even, and from the most unexpected source. Kon had been surprised to find that the one person who he'd always thought would most see him as a simple curiosity, actually had the most comprehension of them all.

Urahara had simply listened, nodded, and then asked the question that had ultimately become his decision-maker.

"Do you really understand what it is you're asking for?"

That question had caught him off-guard. Of course he knew what he was asking for -- and that was exactly what he told Urahara -- he was asking for his freedom. For the right to choose his own path, to make of his life what it would be. To actually _live_. Whether that answer was the one that the ex-shinigami had expected was anyone's guess, but he'd simply sat there quietly for a moment, as though pondering the mod-soul's response. And then, in his usual mercurial and capricious way, he'd clapped his hands together with that disconcertingly gleeful smile, and plucked Kon up by his furry little head.

And then there had been a whirlwind of sound and motion and suddenly he'd found himself no longer ensconced in the furry covering of the stuffed lion, but rather in a real, honest body. And it felt _good_. So good, so natural, so _real_ to not feel the weight of being ignored, of being overlooked and belittled and treated as no more than a tool.

He'd spent the first two days just wandering the city, taking in the sights and sounds as though he'd never seen them before, the typicality of Karakura taking on a new, gilded sheen when seen through new eyes. He'd beamed proudly under the appraising looks -- hey, he'd insisted on a good-looking gigai -- of the women he passed by, but even more from the _lack_ of looks. The lack of disbelieving stares and double-takes that _would_ have been evident had he traipsed down the street in his former visage.

Everything was so new, so shiny and glittering in the new light of a bright future. At least, that's how it had seemed at first. The third day, he'd been forced to accept that he couldn't spend the entirety of his new life running around like a puppy loose from it's tether. That he'd have to take the responsibility of actually finding a way TO live in this new world.

He hadn't counted on the Hollow.

Hadn't counted on it to sense him out, to recognize him as what he was, rather than simply a normal human boy. And when it did... he hadn't remembered to back up, to run away instead of standing and trying to do what he had been created to do. Not because it wasn't in his nature, but because the very nature of the thing he'd asked for prohibited it. He hadn't asked simply for a gigai. He'd asked to be made human. And now, when he needed the extra strength the most... it hadn't been there.

The bittersweet realization had struck him as he'd felt the claws rip through his chest, sound beginning to fade into an echoing roar in his ears, his gigai-dampened senses beginning to register the faint pulse of reiatsu that signaled approaching shinigami. Ichigo, most likely. It figured. Coming to save him, but not _him_. Just coming to rescue the soul in need.

_So that's what he meant when he asked that..._

Only now, when he felt his body -- artificial though it was -- falling backwards, felt the hard impact of the ground against his shoulderblades, did it make sense. He'd been ready for the fact of life, for the chance to fly and to soar on wings all his own. What he hadn't factored in... was the inevitability of death. The way it had felt to hear the breath rattle in his lungs, bubbling slightly as red gathered at the corners of his mouth. The crushing pain as the claws ripped him nearly in two -- obviously this one didn't care about eating neatly.

But really... it was the regret that caught him the most off-guard. Regret that he hadn't expected to feel. Afterall, why should he regret, when this was the choice that he'd made. And yet there it was, the bittersweet agony comprised of regret and yet somehow an enduring sense of thanks. Of wellbeing and acceptance. It had been his choice, yes. His choice, and he'd made it. And despite the fact that the regret was still there, the pain of knowing that he'd been granted this life for so short a time, with so much still left to experience, there was also the peace. The peace of knowing that, short though it may have been -- and it was, he could see his vision fading even as he saw the Hollow's looming shape turn away as it's attention was drawn by loud shouts and the slick kiss of steel -- it had been HIS life. A life truly owned, and in that sense... a life truly lived.


End file.
